


The Pillar Crumbles

by Ciaossu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt and comfort, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciaossu/pseuds/Ciaossu
Summary: “Fenris!” She cheered, wheeling around to face him. She ignored his question, instead greeting him with arms wide open. She stumbled towards him with enough gusto that Fenris felt the need to reach out and steady her. She had probably drank more than the Hanged Man even had on stock, he mused. She swatted his hands away and plowed into him. The arms she wrapped around him made him tense. “Can’t believe you’re here of all people. Didn’t you know? There’s mages about.”
Hawke doesn't deal well with Bethany being taken to the Circle.





	

It was the silence of the tavern that first struck Fenris as odd.

Not that the bar was empty. No, not by any means. The establishment was full of its usual crowd of rowdy drunks, some singing, some talking in loud conversations. All drinking. No, the quiet that caught Fenris’ attention was the lack of one particular voice cutting through all the noise. Hawke’s musical voice usually pulled attention to her; she was near impossible to ignore. It helped that her voice was usually accompanied by the laughter of at least one of her companions.

Fenris still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up being counted as one of Hawke’s group of misfits. People seemed to flock to Hawke, but he’d never seen himself as that type. After all, he’d been alone so long that he was sure he made for poor company. When he’d sought Hawke out - though he’d never sought her directly, she was simply the one to answer - he had expected nothing. If he was lucky, help breaking into the mansion. If he was unlucky, well. He was glad he’d been lucky.

But then Hawke did far more than he expected. Not only had she agreed to help him, but wanted to continue helping after their encounter lead to failure. She swore her aid to him, and in the meantime dragged him along on many of her antics, as if she wanted his company, not just tolerated.

(He did his best to tolerate the company of some of Hawke’s other...friends. He felt it was the best way to repay her for giving him a reason to leave that corpse filled mansion he called home.)

It was this strange gratitude that had him agreeing to follow her into the Deep Roads. The experience had been hellish, something he’d like to never have to remember as long as he lived, and upon returning he wanted nothing more than to return to his mansion and sleep for at least a month.

Hawke, of course, had insisted they all celebrate together immediately.

That was the only reason he had walked into the Hanged Man, tired and grumpy, but at least relieved at the familiar scenery. When he failed to hear Hawke reproaching Varric for not making her seem powerful enough in his story, however, it struck him as odd. He frowned as he looked over the crowd. A flash of white caught his eye. Isabela. At least their group still stood out easily.

Hawke was missing from the table when he arrived, and it seemed she had taken any sense of celebration away with her. The mages seemed rather agitated in particular, Anders glaring into his drink and Merril hands fidgeting on the table. The others seemed to share their moods, and it made Fenris feel uneasy. “Hawke hasn’t arrived yet?”

Anders scoffed and raised his head to scowl at him. Fenris returned the expression, but Aveline was quick to intervene.. “I suppose you haven’t heard yet.” She said, placing a hand on Anders’ arm. It seemed enough to settle Anders for now, but the mood that surrounded the table still didn’t disperse. 

“No. What has happened?” He asked, eyes darting from one face to another. It was Varric who finally broke. He sighed, gesturing for Fenris to take the empty seat, and slid his mug over

“Sit down, Broody. You’ll want to for this story.”

 

Fenris found Hawke an hour later outside the Gallows. It was the last place he had thought to look, but it made the most sense, honestly. He felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Where else would she be but the place where they had dragged her sister?

“And...and another thing, you power tripping dicks! Y-You know what I think?” The bottle in Hawke’s hand went flying and shattered against the stone walls. “You all get off on this, huh? Some sick fucking kicks for the mage hating freaks!”

“Hawke.” Fenris called. He approached her slowly, taking careful steps to avoid the glass shards that littered the ground. A few still unbroken bottles sat closest to Hawke. “How much have you had to drink, exactly?”

“Fenris!” She cheered, wheeling around to face him. She ignored his question, instead greeting him with arms wide open. She stumbled towards him with enough gusto that Fenris felt the need to reach out and steady her. She had probably drank more than the Hanged Man even had on stock, he mused. She swatted his hands away and plowed into him. The arms she wrapped around him made him tense. “Can’t believe you’re here of all people. Didn’t you know? There’s mages about.”

He didn’t have the chance to answer. Her own remark seemed to remind her of the circumstances and she ripped herself away from him in the next moment, scowling up at the fortress walls once more. “Dirty...filthy, scary mages, isn’t that right, Fenny? Bother you just as much as the templars, don’t they?”

He had known this would probably come up. Fenris had foolishly hoped Hawke would have been sober enough to not. “Mages...Bethany was a mage, but perhaps...I don’t think that she-”

“Oh, didn’t think?” Hawke asked. She rounded back to him, with all the fury she’d been directing at the Circle now. “Cause what’s there to think about right? Oh, mage, oh bad, all the same to you, to them.”

“That’s isn’t…” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t even force himself to. He knew that his own feelings regarding mages were the last thing Hawke needed to hear about her mage sister, but everything he knew, everything he’d gone through still ran horror through him. He couldn’t lie, much as he wanted to. “Bethany may not-”

Hawke exploded. “May not?” She seethed. Her hands clenched at her sides and Fenris thanked the Maker her daggers were missing from her sides. “You know damn well that Bethany doesn’t deserve this. She helped you! She helped others as well, she isn’t a risk, but you, you and those damn fucking templars, all the same.”

“I am not a templar, Hawke, your sister-”

“Should be free! Fuck, you’d think an elvish slave would understand that!”

The two froze, like a cliche in one of Varric’s novels. 

The lyrium in Fenris’ veins sang with his fury. He began to glow in the night and snarled at Hawke, but the fight was out of her. She crumpled under his glare and began babbling, apologies stuttering and stumbling over one another. She looked pathetic, a mere fragment of the woman he’d known, and although the comment still stung, he pushed down his temper. For now.

Fenris huffed and his gaze settled on the still whole bottles on the floor. He moved over and picked one up. He could feel Hawke’s eyes on him, but he just held up the bottle rather than acknowledge her. “You going to drink this?” He waited for an answer, but she failed to provide. Shrugging, he tore the cork out and took a swig.

“...I’m sorry.” She finally said.

Fenris shrugged. “You’re hurt.”

She laughed bitterly, and Fenris heard glass crunching beneath her. “Doesn’t matter. That was terrible.You should’ve mauled me for it.”

Fenris snorted. He turned back to her. Hawke was sitting on the floor now, her head bowed and fiddling with a shard of glass. “Honestly, if you ever say anything along those lines again, I will.”

She laughed again and raised her head. She met his gaze and sent him a weak smile that wobbled at the ends. “Fair enough. I’ll hold you to that.”

She fell silent and returned her attention to the glass, and Fenris his to the bottle. They remained for a while, both nursing their own wounds. With a curse, Hawke tossed the shard away and watched as it bounced off the walls. “I’ve always tried so hard to take care of those two. Anything went wrong, and I’d be there. And I was good at it in Lothering.” Her hand had a small cut on it from the glass. She prodded at it until a bead of blood trickled out. Fenris felt the need to swat her hands away. “And then the sodding Blight happened. We left Lothering and everything went to shit. Our home was gone, and then Carver was gone…”

It was hard to see in the dark, but he was sure her shoulders were beginning to shake. “And now Bethany’s gone too.” She sobbed. Her voice was shaking as well. “Because I wasn’t there for her. I was gone on some flight of fancy and now she’s trapped forever. Oh, and mother.” Her laugh was harsh, and it pulled at something in Fenris’ heart. “She blames me of course. Another disappointment to add to her list for her least favourite of children.”

The bottle he had been cradling was placed down once more as he walked back to her. Hawke didn’t move as he approached. It was the first time, he realized, that he’d ever seen her so still. Hawke as he’d known her had always been full of life and movement, always doing something, always taunting or helping. The Hawke he saw now seemed like a corpse in comparison.

“Medea.” Her first name tumbling from his mouth seemed to jar her. She snapped her head up to look at him, for once not masking the surprise on her face behind some kind of sarcasm. “What happened to your sister is not your fault.” He knelt down next to her, ignoring the glass that dug into his skin. “The templars of Kirkwall are different. Nothing you could’ve done would have stopped them. You were trying to make things better for your family, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

It wasn’t a good idea. Hawke was known to be a physical person. Fenris was not. But the circumstances were strange enough, weren’t they? He placed his hand on her shoulder and did his best to make the contact feel reassuring. His lyrium tingled where they made contact, but he pushed it away. “And if anyone could reunite with someone taken away by the templars, it would certainly be the conquering Hawke..”

She snorted and shook her head but the smile had returned to her face, much to his relief. “Maker...that’ll be the day it all goes to shit.”

“Who is out there?” A voice called out. Their heads swiveled towards The Gallow’s doors, which were slowly being opened. “Who is it that’s been out here causing a ruckus all night?”

Fenris grimaced. “It would probably be best for us to go...Unless you’d prefer to sober up from this in Aveline’s custody again?”

The hand on her shoulder was not offered to her. A moment later, her hand was in his and the two were darting back to the boat he’d commandeered - stolen - to get here. Hawke laughed at the annoyed yelling of a certain curly haired templar behind them. While she yelled back more insults as they departed, Fenris couldn’t help chuckling at the drunken mess who demanded his company.

And when Fenris found a large supply of fruits and an apology note outside his mansion the next morning, he decided that perhaps he enjoyed Hawke’s company more than he’d thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be happy? Just comforting? What the hell happened??
> 
> Well. Here's Hawke. My depressed comedian with a mess of a life. Let Hawke rest, Bioware, please.
> 
> If you'd ever like to chat about things, you can hit me up at ciaossuwrites on tumblr!


End file.
